


When He Takes Care of Her

by shigesho



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friendship, High School, Romance, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 01:57:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16187714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shigesho/pseuds/shigesho
Summary: In which Akashi initially tolerates a truant girlfriend but finally decides it's time to take matters into his own hands.





	When He Takes Care of Her

Because it's the first time Seijuro has been ditched by his girlfriend, Rakuzan High's basketball team experiences practice five times more severely rigorous than the norm – the norm being already severely rigorous to begin with. Friday afternoons are supposed to be light for the players, an intended break before the imminent hell they are to face on Saturdays.

But the redhead captain has other things in mind. Or rather, he deems it a need to physically preoccupy himself, lest he'll go permanently insane.

Sakura didn't show up for lunch earlier. He only shares elective classes with her on certain days, and Friday isn't one of those days. But whether she was held up abnormally long for her last morning class, or was supposed to report abnormally early to her first afternoon class – or both, it was not a valid excuse to ditch him on the only day in the entire week that they're scheduled to have lunch together. At the very least, he expects her to give him a heads up should she fail to make an appearance. For isn't that what he does whenever he knows he can't have lunch with her?

He would leave his class immediately after the parting bow, proceed to Sakura's classroom, wait patiently for her by the corridors, (garner a few silent squeals and muffled gasps from the lady passersby because really – what is Rakuzan's team captain doing by the corridor, leaning against the open windows, allowing the waft of fresh air to ruffle his fringe like a damn model in the midst of a photo shoot, and looking absolutely stunning in his pair of lazy, di-colored pupils?), straighten up only when she finally exits the room, and smile before informing her he can't have lunch with her.

And when he would sense her disappointment to be a little bit more than what she lets up, he would offer to make it up to her – and this he never fails to do either, even when most of the time he would have to involve her parents, too, by way of gaining their permission because she hesitates to fine-dine with him.

He ought to know her inside out by now. He'd already known too much about her before he even popped the million-dollar question. But this is just beyond him.

It scrapes his skull as roughly as he dunks the ball over two of the tallest men in his team. When he lands and sees the terrified looks of his players, he recognizes he's gone overboard, perhaps a little too much.

But he puts the circumstance to good use anyhow.

"If I can get past the both of you like that," he says, "then we may have a problem in our future games. Height isn't everything after all."

"Yes," purrs Nebuya Eikichi, center and power forward of the team. Despite his staggering height, he feels diminished before the infallible point guard. Even his huge muscles appear strained in light of Seijuro's episode.

Mibuchi Reo, shooting guard and vice-captain, flicks his wrist gracefully in what seems to be his gesture of apology. "Guess we'll have to make up for it in the second half, huh."

But before the two six-feet-or-so regulars can sprint to the other half of the court for a comeback, Seijuro calls off the practice. There is no point exhausting them now if they'll be thrice as exhausted the following day.

"Everyone's rest is most essential for now," Seijuro suddenly announces. He ignores the look exchanged between Nebuya and Mibuchi. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Relieved though slightly perturbed with their captain's actions, the Rakuzan players retire to their lockers and eventually leave one after the other.

Seijuro waits until the court is empty. His teammates don’t usually linger after practice. If anything, they would all disappear in exhaustion not more than two minutes from the time they’re dismissed. It must be the game interrupted at half time.

When he’s all alone and back in his uniform, he hauls out his phone to finally dial her digits. The steady ringing echoes in his ears. Now she can finally explain herself. Now he can finally put his mind to rest. She must have a good explanation for her insolence. And this Seijuro intends to squeeze out of her – no matter what.

_"Hi! I can't answer now but leave a message after the beep?"_

If digital phones had feelings, Seijuro's would definitely be quivering in fear underneath his cold, angry gaze.

So it wasn't just lunch. She won't answer his calls, too. Blood boiling beneath the pleasant countenance, Seijuro makes a quick visit first to the newspaper club, then to the shogi club – both to no avail. His last hope would be the music room.

It is when he is greeted with nothing but hollow darkness by the Music and Arts building that he concludes she's not in campus. She may never have gone to school at all.

He steps out of the main gate. He looks up at the dotted evening sky. He laughs internally and manages to breathe it out to a mere snort. How could he have missed it? How could he have allowed his mind to entertain such shameless conclusions? How could he – in all his omniscient glory – not know early on? He is astonished as much as he is disgusted.

He speed-dials one of his family's butlers and in exactly forty-five seconds, a black limousine hums to a halt before him. He breezes inside gracefully, nodding once at the wary driver.

"Good evening, Akashi-sama."

"Yanagi Sakura's place," he orders coolly; the butler is almost deceived into thinking his master is in a pleasant mood. Then yet again, whichever mood Seijuro is in, his demeanor would always remain tranquil, impenetrable, perfect. Regardless, the butler is deeply baffled when Seijuro asks him to drop by a convenience store by the next block.

"Do you need anything, Sir?" The butler steps on the pedal. Seijuro is never thought of as someone who associates with the mundane and the common. And for him to suddenly yearn a visit to one of the most common places to perhaps buy mundane things, he must be in quite a situation.

"Your thinking is incorrect," Seijuro says snappily. "True the convenience store is common, but so is any other place if you come to think of it. It all boils down to purpose." He shoots a fiery gaze through the rear view. "As for the mundane..."

The hairs along the butler's nape stand on end. He doesn't wait for the master to finish his thoughts. "Forgive me, Akashi-sama."

Seijuro smiles, but it is far from friendly.

The butler thinks of volunteering to buy whatever it is his master wishes, but Seijuro is stepping out before he could formulate the right words. Only a minute passes when the young Akashi returns in the backseat.

"Please proceed."

There is a hint of sentimentality when the butler replies. "Yes, Sir."

Seijuro understands. And he's uncertain if he should be moved his butler seems genuinely concerned, or irate that this simple man – a middle-aged peasant who is only ever able to feed his family and send his children to a decent school because of the Akashi family's extended kindness – has deduced the matter so much faster than he did.

Seijuro's mind is suddenly escorted to a flipping recollection of the times he's brought Sakura to the Akashi manor. She is apparently impressed with his family's affluence, and it doesn't change no matter the repeated acquaintance. But she keeps it at that. She is impressed but she is never mesmerized. She respects it but doesn't yearn for it, the extravagance.

She admires him but she doesn't – and will probably never idolize him.

And it is this impartiality of her heart that allows her to connect with most of the Akashi manor's workforce. Seijuro knows each one who serves the family: security, household keepers, cooks, drivers, all of them. But for someone outside the family to suddenly pay them attention, to look straight into their eyes and bother asking for their names, and bother even further by memorizing those names to match their faces the next time she visits, it's a feat afforded only by genuine people who want to make genuine connections, regardless of one’s status in society.

Seijuro can only conclude this to be the reason behind the butler's sentimentality. Some time ago, Sakura must have spoken to this butler. She must have formed a genuine conversation with this servant. She must have reached out to this peasant as a real friend. The thought draws a tiny smile across Seijuro's lips.

 

* * *

 

“I’ve known you for years, Akashi, and you’ve never appealed to me the type to tend to the sick.”

Sakura’s words are slurred through the wooden door to her room. She refuses to let Seijuro in, or she’ll die of embarrassment. She claims she doesn’t even look human in her present condition, and that the sight of her may force him to question his taste in women.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t call you.” She sniffs. “Too tired to search for my phone. I’ll call you as soon as I’m better, okay?”

“Sakura.”

“Good luck in tomorrow’s practice. Though I know you never need luck.” She half-laughs, half-snorts.

Seijuro twists the knob. “I’m coming in.”

“You can’t –“

She pulls the comforter over her head. Of course she’s not shocked he has a key to her room. She contemplates attaching a triple latch which can only be opened from the inside and has no keys. But of course he can climb her balcony and enter from the glass door. Or better yet, he can just command her to open the door for him.

For a brief moment she forgets her delirium when she hears Seijuro’s footsteps nearing. They stop by her bedside.

She groans, wishing for the ground to swallow her. “Akashi.”

“Say that again.” His tone is even. Unreadable.

“What?” Sakura suddenly feels the edge of her bed sink under his weight. _Sweet mother of –_ “Okay, okay. You can do whatever you want, but you can’t see my face.”

“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do. Don’t tell me what I can and can’t see.” He shifts more comfortably beside her. “Sakura.”

“Akashi –“

“Seijuro.”

She gulps. Ever since he told her to call him by his first name, she’s been avoiding having to call him by his name at all. The permission he’s given her is beyond intimate, but she fears her face will explode from too much heat. She likes it – heck, she addresses him however the hell she wants in her head. But not as much as it makes her shy.

“Sakura.”

She bites her lip. “Yes?”

“I want to see you.”

“Please, Akashi –“

“Seijuro.”

She sighs. Might as well take advantage of her already heated-up face. “Sei…” _Dear heart, please calm down._ “…juro…” _God, this isn’t rocket science._ “…kun.” She swears her fever spiked up at least ten degrees higher.

But all apprehension leaves her body when she feels a smile grace Seijuro’s lips when he speaks again. “Just Seijuro.” Her own lips curve up to a smile.

Nonetheless, she’s probably the only girl who wishes not for the presence of her boyfriend when she’s sick. And she can’t have his rare sweetness distract her from her main problem, especially that she got sick for such a lame reason. “Will you at least not let me disgrace myself further by allowing me to hide my face while you’re still here?”

His reply is a dismissive grunt, which, in Seijuro’s language, also means ‘not a chance’.

An idea suddenly lights up in her head. “Can you really risk being here, completely vulnerable to my contagious illness, when you have practice tomorrow?” She squeezes the hem of her comforter tighter, wishing for a miracle. If she had anything to count on, it would be Seijuro’s sense of responsibility. He is never unreliable. He is never undependable.

But then her hope deflates. Because Seijuro is also never irresolute.

“I can’t drag your fever down if I can’t cool your head.” He sounds so troubled that Sakura nearly tears up. “And I can’t cool your head if you don’t uncover your face.”

_Akashi Seijuro, you clever idiot._

She gives herself thirty seconds of heavy breathing before finally surrendering. Lips pursed and lids shut, she slowly lowers the comforter. When the thick garment reaches her neck, she risks a peek with one eye. And she instantly regrets it.

The fact that _the_ Akashi Seijuro – along with his jaw-droppingly gorgeous features and eternally hypnotizing dual-colored eyes – is here on her bed and barely at arm’s length has set a record high on her fever. And the realization that he is determined to take care of her – at least until he deems it fine to let her be – has her swearing she’s never going to recover at all.

Seijuro’s hand is suddenly stretched across her forehead. She skips a heartbeat. His touch lingers, and she forces her mind to wander off before her insanity becomes permanent.

His palm is so wide; he can probably cover her entire face. No wonder he can grasp a ball so effortlessly. And his fingers are slender and careful, and quite amusingly calloused by the joints. She tries to determine which hand it is. Left. Ah, the violin. She wonders if he can play other instruments apart from the violin. If he can’t, she wonders how long it must take for him to master another. Seijuro has always been excellent. He never slacks around. If he can dedicate enough time on something, it won’t be long before he can perfect it. Perhaps if he attempts to learn the piano, he will likely surpass her in no time.

He is even exemplary in his academics. And Sakura knows he never leaves the top ranks despite rigorous basketball practice. How amazing can he get, really?

Her trance is momentarily interrupted by his words. “When was the last time you had a proper meal?”

Perhaps it is the underlying care embedded in his question, or the raw concern screaming silently in the tone of his voice, but Sakura’s cheek is suddenly warm where one tear streams down.

“Sakura?”

She bites back a laugh. She can shut him off all she wants, but she can never doubt his affections. Why should he even bother when he has all these more important stuff weighing down his shoulders? Surely, she ought to mean a lot to him.

She hears him sigh. “If it troubles you too much, I’ll grant your wish and leave. But not until you’ve had one proper meal and your head feels a little cooler.”

She chortles then. She has to. She rubs her tears dry before opening her eyes fully. Seijuro’s expression is priceless. And she just has to tease him. “And here I thought you knew everything.”

His brows twitch and his arms lock over his chest.

She rolls her eyes, reaching over to unlock his arms and lace her fingers with his. Something about the way he’s allowing himself to be caught unawares makes her bold. “I’m saying thank you,” she swallows before finishing, “Seijuro.”

He keeps a straight face when he answers. “You’re always welcome.”

But it only makes her laugh. “You don’t have to put up such a rigid face when you’re with me, you know. I know you don’t know everything.”

The silent reply makes her anxious. Did she anger him? Has she crossed the line? Ah, what has she done now?

Seijuro cranes his neck up, and she nearly begs him not to get mad, until she sees the contemplation apparent in his face. He seems to gather his thoughts, and when he looks at her again, his lips are bordering a smile. “It’s just you, Sakura.”

“Eh?”

“I don’t like it.” He disengages from her touch to reach for her bedside table. Her gaze follows his hands and settles on a small basin she’s certain wasn’t there earlier. He pulls out a cloth, wrings it free of water and presses it on her forehead. He tucks strands of her hair behind her ear and smiles. “But I don’t dislike it, either.”

He’s done it now. Sakura rests an arm over her eyes. “I swear I will never recover.”

“You will,” Seijuro says. “You forget I’m always watching whenever you wheedle your way into having our cook teach you her tricks.”

She gasps, realizing the implication. She uncovers her eyes. “You’re not…“

Seijuro rises. “Your mother has given me permission to use your kitchen.” He heads for the exit, pauses by the door. “Do me a favor and try not to heat up too much in my presence. I don’t want to have to resort to sending in a family nurse to take care of you instead.”

* * *

 

Exactly twenty minutes have passed but Sakura’s breathing is still irregular. How can Seijuro be so blunt? He should have granted her the benefit of the doubt. And here she thought he was a perfect gentleman. And to tease her like that –

She screams into her pillow. She hates overreacting. And she has nothing to blame for her misconduct but her ill health. Still, it’s unforgivable. To be too transparent to the one man she’s been trying to shield her inner self from – at least with respect to the real depth of her affections for him. She can’t have him thinking she’s obsessed. She simply admires him, and it just so happens that she likes him, too. And, a little too miraculously, he likes her back. Of course she’s expected to suffer bouts of lunacy.

She jerks back to reality when she hears the door creak. She commands herself to calm down. She forces her mind to enter a void. She can’t cause him any more trouble than she already has.

This time Seijuro grabs a chair to settle on. He places the tray atop the bedside table.

“How are you feeling?”

“A little dizzy, I think.” She attempts to lift herself on her elbows, but they are too wobbly. They give way – into Seijuro’s strong arms.

“Careful,” he says as he supports her shoulders and helps her up to a proper sitting position. “You’ve been sick since Wednesday and you never even told me.”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” she counters instantly. She’s being told off again, and he has every right to. It doesn’t diminish her agitation, though. “And I didn’t think it would last this long anyway.”

He directs her gaze to his with a hand on one side of her face. He makes sure he has her full attention before speaking. “Sakura.” He adds a hint of plea to his words. “Please listen to me. I have so many things to be responsible for and I am absolutely certain I can handle them all. But with you, I can never be certain. I’ve proven that tonight. You got me parading all over campus like a lost child searching for someone who wasn’t even there. And here I find you burning with fever for the third day. It almost makes me ill myself.”

“Akashi –“

“And you still won’t call me by my first name.” A wild glint passes through his scarlet and tangerine eyes. It’s too fast she could be imagining it. But he leans in closer, dangerously, tauntingly, his cool breath caressing her face. His kindness has completely vanished. “I am running out of patience and it is only your fever stopping me from kissing you right now until my name is forever plastered on your lips.”

Sakura leans back, her spine flattening against the headboard. “A-are you threatening me?”

Seijuro smirks. “Is it such a threat to be kissed by me?”

“No, of course not.” She frowns. “I mean, if you put it that way, it seems…”

His face evens and he averts. He fetches a bowl from the tray and stirs the hot porridge with a spoon. “Where is your confidence in me that you think I can afford to threaten you?”

“What…” Her panic is automatic. “No, I don’t mean it that way. I’m sorry, I –“

“Hush, love.” Seijuro’s sweet smile is back. He lifts the bowl closer to her. “I need you to be well. Please eat.”

The spoon is inches from her mouth, and she almost devours it. She’s famished, for one. And she can smell all the herbs perfectly concocted with the porridge – a feat perhaps only cooks in the Akashi family can perfect. But she also believes she needs to lay her thoughts down before him. She’s grown accustomed to his erratic personality shifts, but she knows the shift just moments ago held something more. He may never tell her, but he is still human, a human like everybody else who isn’t immune to pain. She could be overthinking, but overthinking she can afford if it means saving him from the pain of misinterpreting her.

Slowly, she clasps Seijuro’s wrist, dips the spoon into the bowl and settles the porridge back on the tray. And then she takes his cool hands into her warm ones.

She begins with a deep breath. “Seijuro.” The flutters in her stomach haven’t improved. She persists. “I don’t want to tell you this, but you’re bound to know anyway, so I’m coming in clean. But don’t get mad, okay?”

His lack of response is expected.

“I was waiting for you to finish practice last Wednesday, but I didn’t wait in the library. Yes, I know you told me to go ahead, but I didn’t want to miss such a special night.” His perplexed look nearly exhausts her. “Ah, are you really going to make me say it?”

“I don’t understand. Did I fail to tell you we are celebrating on Sunday?”

She sighs. “Yes, I know that. But it’s different on the actual day, you see.” She heaves another breath. “Anyway, I waited by the field so I’d see you when you’re done. I thought you were far from dismissal, so I walked towards the next block to buy a candle. But when I returned, the court was already empty. You’d gone home and I wasn’t able to give you your cake and I wasn’t even able to call you for a greeting. I was too cold by the time I got home.” She tries to hide her nervous chuckle by squeezing his hands. “I know, it’s lame but…”

“Who, in their right mind, would wait by the field in a biting cold December night?” He doesn’t sound as angry as his words suggest. “And I know you never put anything on top of your uniform coat. What exactly were you thinking?”

“I… I don’t know, I’m sorry. I guess I was just trying to make your day a little special?” The way she squirms beneath her own words tells him she’s never gone out of her way for anyone else’s birthday. “I didn’t even realize it was that cold until… you know.”

Seijuro lifts a pair of intertwined hands to press his head. “Sakura, how can I make it up to you?”

Make it up to her? “What?” Is she hearing him right? “I didn’t say it was your fault. Please don’t get me wrong, Aka – Seijuro. I brought this upon myself and I was too embarrassed to tell you. I still am. But please don’t think it’s your fault.”

“No, I’m not thinking it’s my fault.” He smiles weakly. “But it’s still because of me. There’s a difference.”

“I’m not sure I understand, but really, there’s nothing to worry about. In fact,” she considers her head, “I don’t feel so sick anymore.”

“I can’t trust the opinion of someone who can’t even tell how cruel the weather already is.” He releases her hands and fetches the bowl of porridge. “Now eat before this gets cold, too.”

Sakura can’t help getting flustered as her boyfriend feeds her. She just wishes he won’t point it out to her again. When they’re done, he pours her a glass of water and checks her temperature.

“You’re better.” He smiles. “I’m glad.”

She can only nod in response.

“I want to stay but I can’t. Please call me as soon as you can tomorrow. And then I’ll fetch you on Sunday afternoon.”

She nods again, this time with a smile.

He tucks her neatly beneath her quilt and leans over to kiss her forehead. “Sleep well.”

The smile doesn’t leave her lips as her gaze trails behind him. He saunters for the door and flicks off the light. She almost thinks it was worth it getting sick. But then she remembers the embarrassment and she mentally slaps herself for being so foolish.

Outside, Seijuro is greeted by his butler with a coat.

“Thank you. Let’s head home.”

The butler bows, opens the door for his master and secures himself in the driver’s seat. “If it’s not too intrusive, Akashi-sama, may I inquire of Yanagi-sama’s condition?”

Seijuro looks at him pointedly through the rear view. “Sakura is better, and I have all the mundane things I’ve bought from a commoner’s store to thank for.” He smiles, this time a bit friendlier. “Thank you for asking.”

The butler nods pleasantly.

And now Seijuro has the practice for tomorrow to worry about – for it is sure to be interrupted with a foolish birthday surprise. There’s no wonder Nebuya and Mibuchi seemed panicked at the early dismissal, and why the rest of the team seemed reluctant to leave. It seems to him he wasn’t alone in his preoccupation earlier.

He shakes his head. Tomorrow might be interesting.

But not as interesting as today. He hauls out his phone to send Sakura a message. He may not know everything when it comes to her, but he does know the possibility of her fever returning as soon as she reads it.

 _“No sickness can diminish your beauty, love. But do take care.”_  

* * *

 

**(c) shigesho**


End file.
